


barriers between us

by Darth Occlus (NotSummer)



Series: divergance (complete) [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Armor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Intimacy, Leaving Home, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSummer/pseuds/Darth%20Occlus
Summary: It's the first time she has to stay behind, and while the meaning was always there, helping her lover put his armor on takes on a whole new meaning.





	barriers between us

**Author's Note:**

> There was a discussion about helping clone troopers put on their armor and the meaningful undertones, as well as painting armor or wearing their symbols, but this one grew out of the helping put the armor on bit. I may have written smut, but this is still the most intimate thing I've ever written.

The first thing she notices when she wakes is the absence. She’s curled alone in their bunk, and there’s no arms around her, no hands resting on the gentle swell of her stomach. She stretches, opening her eyes where she’s lying on her side to see Jesse pulling his blacks on. He’s tugging the top over his head, and she watches the material cling to the outline of his muscles as he tugs it down his torso.

She catches his eyes, and he pads over to her, leaning down to kiss her brow. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he murmurs, crouching down to be at eye level with her. His hand smoothes over her stomach. The child inside isn’t big enough for him to feel her kicks yet, but Miyala has been feeling the little flutters inside her since nearly a week ago.

Miyala shifts so she’s half off the bed, taking advantage of his crouch to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “I don’t want you to go,” she says, her mouth muffled as she leans her face into the crook of his neck.

He tugs her arms off from around his shoulders so he can sit on the bed. “I know. But you can’t come on missions where there’ll be fighting.”

“I know,” she says miserably. She wants to watch his back. She wants to ensure his safety herself. But pregnant, with her offset center of gravity, she’s too vulnerable, and he’s been forceful about not letting her near a fight. This, however, will be the first mission where she has to stay behind.

She’s not a fan.

She sits up, clambering into his lap. He grunts: she’s gotten heavier since she got pregnant, but he kisses her brow and wraps her in his arms and for a second she can convince herself he doesn’t have to walk out the airlock into the CIS held world they’ve snuck onto. For a second the galaxy shrinks down to the feeling of his muscles shifting and contracting as he holds tight to her and the movement of the child inside her and the feel of Jesse’s lips on her cheek.

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, and then opens them. She pulls back, and desperately hoping to avoid the tears she can feel coming, she says, “You need to get your armor on.” She slips off the bed to stride over to the armor stand in the corner of their cabin, taking a deep breath to center herself. The Force is handy enough: it lets her float the various pieces over to where he’s watching her from the bed. She returns, facing him as they stand in front of each other.

There’s a tangible bittersweetness in the air, and she buckles him into the chestplate and codpiece, then kneeling in front of him. She floats over the cuisses, snapping the armor onto his thighs as he watches her, something soft in his eyes. She pauses, looking up at him, suddenly deeply aware of the intimacy of the moment, of her kneeling in front of him, of her fingers tightening buckles she’s normally taking off.

Her fingers trace the muscles in his calves, and he raises a foot for her to slip his boot on. She presses a kiss to the top of his greave as she buckles it on. He puts his foot down, raising the other for her to repeat the motion. There’s a tension in the air, and a hundred things to say, but they exchange glances, and nothing more needs to be said: the moment is enough, and they know each other as well as they know themselves.

She rises, keeping her eyes on his as she tugs his belt and kama around his waist, her fingers smoothing out wrinkles in the heavy fabric. She only looks away as she fastens the shoulder pads on, and fastening the pauldron on top. He looks so much larger in his armor, and with every piece, she feels smaller and smaller next to him.

Of course, not that she minds the way he’s so much bigger than her. Not that she minds the way he could crush her if he landed too hard. Not that she minds the way he’s capable of covering her entirely when he fucks her into the mattress.

Not that she minds when people mistake him for the dangerous one.

Her hands trace his biceps as she hesitates before fastening his rerebraces on. She can’t stop herself, and she leans forward, stepping into him, pressing her forehead against his chestplate. She doesn’t want him to leave. Her shoulders shake, and she can’t stop the gasping breath that escapes her.

His unarmored forearms wrap around her. “I’ll be fine, Ala. I’ll be fine.”

She shakes, but she wrestles herself under control. She pulls back, meeting his eyes, the tears she can’t take back glistening in her own as she stares at him. This close, she can see the golden flecks in his eyes, brightening the warm brown she loves so much.

She takes another deep breath, and calls his vambraces to her, the heavy grey plastoid marking him an ARC trooper. She fastens them on, and her hands tangle with his, her fingers wrapping around his as she pauses again. She slips his gauntlets on, and then calls his helmet to her.

She holds it in her hands, the last piece of his armor, and she looks down at it, studying the scratches and the empty black visor and the designs so carefully painted on. She presses a kiss to the center of the cog before standing on her toes. He leans down, letting her pull his helmet on, the suit hissing slightly as it seals.

She takes a step back, looking up at him, fully armored before her, suddenly aware she’s wearing only his red shirt from Kamino, the sleeves bunched up around her elbows and the hem falling to mid thigh. He reaches for her, his hands tracing up the soft underside of her forearms, over her biceps, tracing the lines in her shoulders and her collarbones before drifting downwards. His hands pause at her breasts, and she hides a smile. Predictable man.

His hands cup her fuller breasts, enlarged from her pregnancy, and then drift downwards to circle her stomach. His helmet tilts, and she can’t see his face, but she knows the expression on his face, the rapturous wonder. His fingers tap on her belly, and their daughter moves, kicking, reaching for her father, but the movement is barely a flutter, and he can’t feel it.

He takes a step forward, and another, herding her back towards the bed where they sit as his hands trace down her thighs and over her knees and along her calves. His hands pause on her ankles, and his shoulders slump. “I have to go,” he says, and the roughness in his voice is not caused by the vocalizer but by the emotion between them.

He doesn’t want to leave her. She doesn’t want him to go. But they have a mission, and he has his orders. He stands, walking backwards towards the door. “Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum, cyar’ika,” he says, his visor trained on her as the mando'a he’s managed to pick up from the Alphas and Commandos he trained with slips out.

The door sweeps closed, and she’s left alone in their bed, waiting for the mission to be over.


End file.
